Om

What is the sound that echoes in the ears
when all is silent and the earth, asleep,
leaves off its boisterous clamor and harangue,
its endless waves of wild, chaotic speech,
and in a mute and restful slumber dreams?

The world in such a chasm’s wake was born,
its roots entwined around a primal hush
that swallowed nothingness without a word
and cast itself out like a spider’s web
from shadow’s body into space and time.

The frequency at which that first hum sounds
destroys the fibers of its universe;
each phase an ending that begins again,
a great abyss which endlessly refills,
reverberating in ears not yet made.

Infinity is but a moment’s span
as worlds wink in and out like distant stars;
and time becomes an artificial guide,
a meaningless contrivance marking out
where one illusion borders on the next.